"Thou art hurting me beyond any cure now," she panted wrathfully.
"It is thy fault. Have I not said I am sated with submission? If thou wouldst unlock mine arms, kiss me and tell me thou wilt be my queen."
"Let me go," she exclaimed, choking with emotion.
"Better for thee to tell me 'yes'; thou wilt save thy father a lie."
She looked at him speechless.
"I have said. To-morrow he will tell me that thou hast promised to wed me—whether thou sayest it or not. Spare him the falsehood, Masanath, and me a heartache."
"Wilt thou slander my father to me?" she demanded. "Art thou a knave as well as a tyrant?"
"Nay, I have spoken truly. Sad indeed were thy fate, my Masanath, did the gods mate thee with a knave, having fathered thee with a villain. So I am come to know of a truth what is thy will."
"And I can tell thee most truly. Sooner would I sit upon the peak of a pyramid all my life than upon a throne with thee; sooner would I be crowned with fire than wear the asp of a queen to thee. My father may wed me to thee, but I will never love thee, nor say it, nor pretend it. Thou wilt not win a wife if thou dost take a queen by violence. Release me!"
"Thou dost rivet mine arms about thee."